


By Blood, I Will

by EmeraldSage



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: America being the youngest, But in the real life scary kinda way, Canada being overprotective, Even though I tried to make it one, Gen, I might be trying to hard, NA bros, Scary, This is so not a oneshot, Tried to have this done by midnight, halloween fic, hope you like it, i think, kind of an ambiguous ending, love you all, sigh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-01
Updated: 2016-11-01
Packaged: 2018-08-28 09:03:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8439586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmeraldSage/pseuds/EmeraldSage
Summary: Midnight's coming and barriers that have long protected America and his people are collapsing under someone's forceful machinations.  With America on the verge of collapse from the backlash of a long-hidden protective magic, his people on the brink of revolution, and his brothers driving themselves to the brink to try and find a solution, midnight isn't the only thing to worry about.  And with a long hidden evil making its way south to America's borders, drawn by the flaw in the wards, the witching hour on All Hallow's Eve is suddenly twice as terrifying as ever before.Happy Halloween, America.Bad summary, I know - please tell me if you want to read more!





	

            The sun was shining brightly in clear azure skies, gleaming happily even as many of the people it shone down upon tugged their jackets and warmer wear closer. The wind gusted breezily through the city streets and the birds chirped perkily. It was an absolutely lovely morning.

            It didn’t stop the worried chill that settled over the young blond nation as he strode through the busy streets of his capital. He knew what day it was.

            The morning of All Hallows Eve had dawned gracefully and with a great deal of peace. There had been very little chaos and restlessness in the days leading up to the much-anticipated holiday, leaving most people a mix of anxious and pleased. Halloweekend had taken off, as usual, and the young nation hid a smile as he walked past some of the hung-over university students stumbling towards the nearest metro entrance. Children in bright costumes loaded themselves – with parents eyeing them carefully – onto large school buses with cheerful laughter and an air of mischief shrouding them. He’d caught sight of a budding candy trade amidst the bunch, and wouldn’t be surprised at all when the chaos of sugar-high children crashed down on the poor teachers. University students – both those hung-over and those smart enough not to be on a Monday morning – raided coffee shops for their morning fix, dressed as Disney characters, draped in do it yourself cosplays or costumes, with jackets draped half-hazard over inexpensive but incredibly creative ensembles. There were some groups of students he could see sneaking around, laughing brightly and complimenting each other’s outfits, as they forsake classes in favor of trick-or-treating on Embassy Row.

            Even as he smiled at the contentment the entire city seemed to radiate, he tugged his jacket closer to himself, feeling the chill – not of cold, but something far more sinister – deep in his spine, echoing in his bones.

            Tonight. Tonight, the blood barrier would fall.

* * *

            For centuries – long before Europeans and their ilk had begun to explore the oceans that touched his shores – he had walked the land hand-in-hand with the guardian who’d been charged with teaching him of himself. His mother – for it was she who had called him forth from the land and from the sky, from sea-kissed soil and rain-drenched prairies – had been the guardian of the northern half of the massive continental plate, which housed the Americas. She guarded the land, tending to it, until he and his siblings had sprung from the land itself to take on their respective mantles. She taught them who and what they are – although there had been much that had been instinctive to them – and what their duties were, to both their people and themselves, just as her southern counterpart did the same.

            He was the youngest of his siblings, despite how many in Europe thought him the eldest, and away from the ever vigilant gaze of their former colonizers, he was treated as such.

            Despite their public relations, on many case, most of his siblings had good relations with each other. He and his northern brother were the closest, a factor of being closest in age. It was almost entertaining sometimes, when he used to watch England and France dance around Canada during war meetings and sensitive issues – before England lost his Empire and France had been beaten down by war – deeming him too young and too inexperienced.

            Obviously, neither had noticed the murderous calm his brother had emitted after he’d heard that one-day. Poor Germany would certainly never underestimate Canadians ever again.

            Funnily enough, Canada never thought it was as hilarious as he did. And his brother was _very_ good at getting his revenge any time he thought America was having too much fun laughing at him. He paused in his thoughts as a shiver made its way through his system, startling the others walking around the same street. That wasn’t exactly what he wanted to be thinking of right now.

            But, regardless, his northernmost brother was also his most protective, overprotective even. It didn’t mean that Mexico and Cuba were not protective, but he doubted anyone could match the Canadian’s overprotective fury. Mexico was more the type to trade insults with, disguising protective fury with casual banter. Cuba went silent when he was mad, and rarely said a thing. It had to be his luck that all three of his brothers like to be passive-aggressive together (though he couldn’t fault them for it, what most people didn’t realize was that he was the most passive-aggressive out of all of them – when people were expecting a fist to the face, the easiest way to get back at them was with a knife-sharp smile).

            He didn’t mind much, to be honest. He loved the attention his family gave him, and when warmth wrapped around his hearth, there was nothing in the world that could tear him away from it. His brothers disliked how driven he could be sometimes, and the toll it would take on his health. He’d skip meals, showers, and sleep if it meant finishing a project that much sooner. He’d get so focused that almost nothing could snap him out of it. They especially disliked how the rest of the world always wrote it off, or turned around and insulted him. His northern brother hated it the most when his ‘closest friends and allies’ criticized his weight and his eating habits. It hurt, but he always tried to play it off as nothing. He always knew when he failed because sunset-hued eyes would always darken to an unforgiving violet, a glacial cast to his face.

            Matthew had always been able to tell when something was wrong with him. Usually, it was obvious (to his brother at least); the way he’d drift off in meetings after working all night, the skinniness of his wrists when he’d fallen back into his old purging habits once the snide comments would finally get to him, the unusual quiet on certain issues, or the way his clothes would hang loosely on his frame. But there were more subtle ways his body betrayed him to his brother’s eyes: the tired gleam in his eyes, the slowed pace of his walk, the falsity of his smile, and the habitual way he’d curl into himself when he needed a hug from his precious people.

            And seeing his brother awaiting his arrival on his doorstep after his morning walk through the city, he couldn’t help but believe it had been a subtle cue that had betrayed his growing unease.

            But, then again, his brother knew about the barrier. It had been Matthew who had first helped him set it up.

            “I can’t hide anything from you, can I?” he said, energy waning. His brother raised a brow, sunset eyes amused.

            “I don’t know why you try,” he responded slyly, and the younger rolled his eyes. He wished that Arthur and Francis could meet the Matthew that he knew sometimes; he was sure that half their attitude would get cut off right there and then.

            “How bad is it?” the violet-eyed nation asked as Alfred stepped up to unlock his door and ushered his brother into his home.

            “It’ll fail by midnight,” he answered grimly, recalling the vicious sense of certainty and horror that had overwhelmed him when the witching hour had come upon him this morning. He’d gone to sleep early for a change, and the brutal crack in the barrier had startled him awake, breathless and sweaty, and completely terrified.

            He couldn’t even fathom what would happen should the barrier fail completely. It was a catastrophe of the likes that he’d never contemplated. He’d never had to, before.

            The grim expression on his brother’s face both reassured him and worried him. His brother knew the consequences of the failing barrier, possibly better than he did. A lot of that which the barrier kept away from his people and his lands kept to the northernmost regions of his brother’s territory, where the elder nation’s ruthless winters and uncompromising nature kept them at bay. His brother’s people – subconsciously aware of the threat that lay in the northern reaches of their land – kept as close to the barrier as they could, unless they preferred the climate of the north (though there were few who did).

            Their indigenous peoples, interestingly enough, had no fear of that which plagued them. There was a power in storytelling, and their tales kept the danger at bay. It was a fact that both of them were grateful for; they wouldn’t have been able to set up the initial barrier otherwise.

            He dropped his keys on the kitchen counter as his brother hummed contemplatively. He glanced over, curious, as he reached for a pair of mugs. “Something up?” he asked.

            “It explains some things,” was his response, and he turned to fully face his brother at that, a frown twisting his lips.

            “In what way.” Now Matthew was frowning, just slightly, but he sighed and sat at one of the barstools nearby.

            “I’ve been sensing some migration,” he admitted hesitantly, “some of _them_ have begun to move southwards. They stayed away from my people, and stuck to the mostly uninhabited ranges, so after a few inquiries, I dismissed it.” The _I wish I hadn’t_ was very clear on his brother’s face, but even as he searched for words that wouldn’t come out stuttered and half-hearted, he knew it wasn’t something Matt could’ve fixed.

            “You think they sensed the barrier weakening?” he said after a minute of silence. His brother nodded hesitantly.

            “They were able to sense it going up and keep away from it,” he pointed out, “but you should’ve been getting some kind of warning that they were weakening. It shouldn’t have come down on you so late.” And that was the scary, chilling part of it all: he should’ve known.

            If the barrier had been weakening all on its own, then he should have received prior warning. The barrier they’d created all those years ago had its foundation in his very blood – the essence of what he was – and if that was weakening, he should’ve been the first to know. But if it _hadn’t_ weakened on its own, if this sudden crack in the strength of the wards was unnatural…was _intentional_ …

            A wave of pain erupted down to his very bones and his mind went blank as everything in him seized and _flared_.

            He didn’t even feel it when he hit the ground, screams that ripped from his throat resounding in his ears, pounding a ruthless tempo in his veins, drowning the aching cry from within his soul as the very land itself writhed in furious protest. He didn’t hear his brother’s alarmed shout as the other dove for him, struggling to pin him in place as he thrashed at the pulsing persistence of the invisible blow. He didn’t taste the blood – the thrumming Gulf Stream current, the slightest hint of aged tea in saltwater, the chill of a Nor’easter’s snow, the spices of the Southwestern desert, and the crisp air of the mountains – as he bit through his tongue, subconsciously trying to hold back his screams.

            All he could feel was the barrier he’d etched in his own blood, centuries ago, determined to keep his new people safe. All he could feel was the sensation of having his soul wrenched from him as the barrier cracked forcibly, spiraling into fragility.

            And then all he knew was black.

* * *

            Part of having 90% of your lands being either iced over or too cold and therefore uninhabitable somehow translated to an impeccable sense of calm in the face of the unknown. On practically the eve of the American Revolution, when his little brother stood in front of him in his home in Ontario, expression hard and serious but eyes pleading for his support, he had remained calm even though his heart was breaking. The night the White House had burned – when Arthur had lit the match himself, a wickedly satisfied expression on his face and vengeance in his eyes – he had been calm, even when he caught sight of his brother only hours later, unconscious and moaning in pain, not that far from the center of the city. During the Rebellions of 1837, he’d remained calm even as his people tried to rip him apart. Sure, it had been painful and it had been relentless for a very long time, but not once did he allow that to escape his iron control over his emotions. Alfred had always been the more emotional of the two of them, but Matthew would not let his emotions rule him.

            So when he watched his brother collapse in front of him – mid-thought at that – he found himself, in a very small part of his mind, surprised that he was actually beginning to _panic_.

            To be fair, neither he nor his brother had ever been put in this position before. He knew, intimately, what the barrier was protecting his brother’s people from. And the last time the barrier had failed…

            _Screams, so loud they echoed through the hollows, and he clapped small hands over his ears. His breath rattled in his chest like a death knell, heartbeat thrumming filled with life in the barren landscape around him. The screams of the people refused to quiet, and soon all he could hear was the pounding of his own blood._

_A roar ripped through the trance-like state he’d put himself into, and his eyes went wide just as his body tensed. His ears twitched, trying to catch from where the sound was, so he knew where **not** to go, when a multitude of howls echoed through the area and instinct was all that prevented him from freezing. He leapt for the nearest tree, scaling it as high as he could go safely, and then some. A monstrous shadow stalked through the hollow where he’d been hiding and he clapped a hand over his lips to still his breathing as much as possible._

_For seconds, there was silence. The beast below him huffed and sniffed, knowing prey was nearby but not knowing where. Then another scream – piercing and powerful in a way the others had not been – rent the air, and he felt his heart seize as the world around him went still and the land **moaned**. The beast roared beneath him and loped away in the direction of the new scream and he felt the world tilt._

_That was his brother!_

            Alfred stirred slightly, still unconscious, and snapped him out of the memories. He shifted his little brother in his arms, so the other rested more comfortably, before deciding to move the younger to the couch. He’d be able to keep an eye on his brother while he decided what they could do to fix this…problem. And boy, was it a problem.

            Alfred had not been so affected the last time the barrier failed, that he knew. Sure at that time, Aiyannah – their guardian – had constructed the barrier and taught them how to do it for future reference, but it didn’t change the fact that it had been drawn in Alfred’s blood. If it was a mere issue of renewing the blood seals on the barrier, than it should be fine. But someone or some _thing_ was throwing all they had at the barrier, trying to crack through it. And it was working.

            _It doesn’t make any sense_ , he thought, frustrated, running a hand through his hair in aggravation. They could always renew the barrier; any collapse would be terrible, yes, and the loss of life would be there. But if he had to think of it in purely strategic terms, they could always deal with it. The barrier would eventually go back up, and all those who’d crossed into his brother’s lands upon its collapse would be forced out again. That’s how it had been all those years ago. There was nearly nothing to gain from this other…than…

            _Time_.

            Puzzle pieces connected.

            _The election is next week_ , his mind told him, _America’s already distracted, distraught and his people are hovering on the edge of anxiety and terror. And one attack on the barrier knocked him **out cold**. It took an 18-wheeler crashing down on **top** of him along with tons of concrete to knock him out for more than a few minutes when he was this worn down and his attention split. Which means the **barrier** is attacking him. **Distracting him**. And when it falls, with the election so soon and the race so close, the chaos that’ll fall in the wake of disaster would be enough to…_

            His blood ran cold.

            **_Change. Violence. Revolution_** _._

            What else could it lead to? With his brother unconscious or unavailable, recovering from the barrier’s collapse, as his people went to war with each other to protect themselves and their ideals? Americans rallied around their government – around their flag and their ideals – when crisis struck. That was something everyone in the _world_ knew. But what if the government was responsible for the failure in protection? What if the barrier’s collapse had parallel results, blamed on the sitting government’s lack of protection? With the people desperately wanting change, panicking at the split in the nation, and anxiously waiting as the dreaded day drew closer and tensions ran dangerously higher….

            If this enemy – whoever they were – took out America, even if it was just for a week, and let chaos reign throughout the land of the free…all they would have to do was…wait.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm taking creative artistic license to move the mystery of Roanoke up by a year. Just to make it an even 430.


End file.
